She rose, passed out of the room, and without a tremor descended the stairs. But at Goursac's landing the sound of voices below compelled her to halt and withdraw into the room. In the turning her skirt caught on a splinter and was torn. "Ah, what a misfortune!" she said to herself, unconscious of the incongruity of her words. "My best skirt, too." Her mind, before the immense decision, took refuge in trifles. She sought a pin and occupied herself with hiding the rent, while from time to time she exclaimed impatiently: "They are taking a long time!" Unable to remain still, she passed out to the landing, whence, fancying that she had detected the name of Barabant, she stole down the steps as far as the turn would permit, shrinking against the dark walls. Almost immediately the door opened and the voice of Javogues said: "He shall not escape, I promise it! Within three days Barabant shall look through the little window of Mother Guillotine!" "But how'll you find him?" replied the querulous voice of la Mère Corniche. "Some one has transferred him from the Luxembourg." "Never fear. I'll search the prisons and drag him out, in spite of all the Dossonvilles in Paris." "But when?" "This morning. There, will that satisfy you, old patriot?" A grunt came for all reply, and the next moment the ascending flight creaked with the weight of the concierge. Nicole, thus threatened with immediate discovery, seized her dagger in a desperate resolve, but the advance stopped and the voice of la Mère Corniche whispered: "Nicole has gone out, hasn't she?" "No, she is above." "Then it is better to wait." To the inexpressible relief of the trembling girl, the old woman turned and descended. Left in security, Nicole resumed her composure. Without fear of failure, without once debating the means she should employ, confident that all that was essential was to be in the presence of the tyrant, she descended, entering the room so softly that Javogues turned with a startled: "Who's that?" "Nicole." "What are you stealing in like a cat for?" "I have come to speak with you." "Speak." "Why do you persecute Barabant?" "He is a traitor!" "But he said he was not a Girondin." "He lied." "But what is his offense?" "He would show mercy to the aristocrats." "Mercy!" she cried. "Have you forgotten to whom you owe your life? You did not scorn his mercy!" Instead of the expected explosion, Javogues, without resentment, replied: "Because I remembered that I did not listen when they told me Barabant was contre-révolutionnaire. I have done a great wrong: I considered myself instead of the Nation." He rose with the glance of the fanatic. "Yes, I am guilty--I, Javogues! But I will denounce myself. If the Nation decides that I must be punished, let my head warn others against moderation!"